Lights
by Valexian rose
Summary: Maybe they're like people. Some are blue, some are are green, maybe even red. Or maybe, they change colors. But me, as a person, as a light, I used to be bright and white, but a long time ago, I was switched off. And I went out. My name, is Beatrice Prior.
1. Pilot

Lights, thats all we are, when the world goes round and the darkness finds the side of the Earth you call your home, we're nothing but little lights alone. In the blackness that we call familiar, we are alone, no one is out there, and if they were, they would see half of our destroyed world in the light of our only star, making us look lonely as the only blue planet, the only one that isn't frozen to the core. It looks like it was given a few drops of color, and a splatter here and there of white. And on the other side it drifts into shadow and darkness that would hold little specks of light in the shape of our continents, the world portion getting brighter the more populated it is. Sometimes I stop to ask myself if any of the lights feel alone, but they couldn't be lonely, they all get so excited when the other lights flick on.

Or maybe they just go with the flow, knowing that they only have a select time to shine. Lights, are kind of like people, they only have a short time be be their brightest, the rest of the time they fizzle in and out of darkness, until they go out for a long time. Maybe they're like people. Some are blue, some are are green, maybe even red. Or maybe, they even change colors. But me, as a person, as a light, I used to be bright and white, but a long time ago, I was switched off. And I went out.

My name, is Beatrice Prior. Every night, I leave my house and walk up the hill, I lay in the grass that tickles my ears and licks at my bare legs. My dress is flat and silky against me, my palms turned up, my feet bare. I let my eyes open halfway as they sting from dryness. My cheeks and nose rough and rosy from crying. The tear stricken sickness that plagues the eyes and heart of every man and woman alive at least once in their life, has now made it's way to me. As the late night wind dances across the globe, it swirls and plays with my black dress. My moist cheeks, eyes, and nose are now cold. I can't help but pray for the burning in my eyes to stop, for water to come and douse away the pain. If Caleb was here, he'd tell me the remedy is a steaming hot shower or chamomile and honey tea. He and mom loved drinking tea, dad always joked that they were turning amity and getting high off of flowers. I don't know if dad will make that joke anymore.

I feel my eyes widen as the haloed moon finds it's way to illuminating the darkest night of my life. As the sky turns white and blue with all of the lonely stars in the sky, I can't help but wonder if the ball of fire in the center of our solar system ever feels alone, like it won't ever meet one of the other stars more than one hundred light years away. I remember coming here with Caleb for the first time, with him pointing out the constellations, he was always smart. Explaining and wondering with me about the world and how many stars there are. We used to make up stories about the constellations and how they were named. They are nothing but memories now.

I sit up, bending my knees slightly and letting some of the loose strands of my dirty blonde hair, fall into my view from my messy bun. I can't help but feel curious and sad looking at all the town lights, from all of the houses and their restless residents. "Beatrice!" My head whips to the left, I see my mother and father standing in the pale light of a street lamp a few meters away. My fathers face is glum and cast slightly down, my eyes follow the black suit he's wearing, it's still as crisp as it was this morning. His dark ashy hair gelled but slightly tousled. His lips are in a thin line and his five o'clock shadow clear under the lamp light. I notice that they are holding hands with laced fingers, their silver rings catching some light. He rubs the top of her slightly wrinkled hand with his thumb, a comforting gesture, it's good to know they still love eachother very much.

My mothers face holding a small sad smile, her eyes are still soft and blue but they are filled with remorse, her light brown hair pulled back into a tight bun, and her black dress still worn. She has switched back to her flats and her black leggings off. She is standing close to my father, her shoulder next to his heart. "Beatrice, it's time to go home," My mother cooes softly. I rise to my feet, wiggling my toes in the damp overgrown perfect grass.

It'll be a long time before I have the guts to come back here, Caleb and I spent so long here, laughing and playing. Sometimes he would take Susan here when we were kids, have little picnics and I taught her how to climb a tree in a skirt, Caleb would not stop blushing that day. His ears slightly red and his nose scrunched up. They were a secret thing, him and Susan, she and I were friends, I don't know if she'll ever talk to me again though. Not after today, I know he loved her though, sometimes he would rant at me in my room, asking for advice in the middle of the night. I know Susan tried to get me and her brother, Robert, together so it would be more convenient for Caleb and her to meet. He and I both agreed to just be friends, we couldn't really work, he was nice and gentle while I was a little too daring for anyones taste.

My eyes find the city one more time, scoping and scanning the moon drifting through the buildings, finding what little natural light I can in hopes that it will restore my own. And for the last time, I feel the chilled wind drift through my hair and gush around my thin arms and legs, playing at the laced hem of my black dress. It freezes my face and gives me goosebumps up my arms and legs, making the thin loose hairs from my head tickle my neck, sending cold shivers down my spine. I feel my toes curl and cross my arms, rubbing them slightly and sniffling up the cold and looking down at my pale bare feet through my eyelashes. I know my parents are waiting for their little girl, so I look up and breathe in, tapping my toes into the grass once more then reaching down for my shoes. I slip them on and look to the left at my parents who are patient and kind, selfless and more than loving to me and always Caleb.

I feel my lips part so I wet them, and make my way to my father, who has his arm outstretched to me. I look at him and see a small loving smile on his lips, I can't find it in me to smile back so I look down as he puts his arm around my small shoulders. He kisses my head, then my mothers and smiles as much as anyone could right now, saying "Lets go home."


	2. Stiff

I wake up to my open window, with the light filtering through my grey drapes, still showing the flakes of dust in the air to the wooden floor. Fading the once golden light into a pale manila grey. I sit up and watch as the dust floats slowly through the air, reminding me of fireflies in late June to the beginning of August. Caleb once told me while we were in our back yard, on the steps, that fireflies light up as a mating habit or even a conversation. I thought it was gross at the time, but he found it fascinating. I sigh at the memory of the sky turning grey and dark blue with orange peeking over the trees, dusk rolling in and us playing in the grass until our mother called for dinner.

I turn to my night stand and see my phone starting to ring, 5:30, time to wake up. I kill the alarm and pull off my grey and white sheets, swinging my legs over the side of the mattress. It's good to wake up early, to better ready the mind for the day at hand. I take in how empty my room looks, with just a mattress, a nightstand and a small lamp. Then the rest is bare until my closet. The walls of my room a concrete grey color, and the floor oak panel, I stretch my shoulders and arms. Then clicking any bones that flicked out of place and touching my toes. A morning stretch or cardio workout will wake the body, and prepare the heart for the rest of the day, makes you live longer. After stretching I strip down to nothing and walk into my connected bathroom, turning the water cold.

I waste no time washing my hair and body, doing other bodily things and finishing in 6 minutes. Taking a cold shower always makes me feel better, and Caleb always told me it was rude to take long steamy hot showers. It is considered a selfish extravagance. I do not have a mirror in my bathroom, only what I need such as a hairbrush and a select amount of hair ties and pins and the like hygiene necessities. I quickly dry off and get dressed into a soft grey shirt and darker blue jeans. They aren't skinny nor are they baggy, they are a little big so I could grow into it.

I brush my teeth and hair, pull my hair into a side french braid, and freshen up for the day. Pulling on my socks and getting my bag for school from my door. Open the drapes and make my bed, finally after picking up my room and bathroom, I grab my phone and keys, then check the time, 6:45. I open my door quietly and walk into the hallway, closing it behind me. Picking up an apple and a soft pastry from the pantry I munch on it while I make my lunch in silence. I finish at 7 and slip on my converse shoes, swinging my backpack over my shoulder. I leave and lock the door, my father must have already left for work, his car is gone. My mother doesn't get up until 8, so I walk to school alone.

I occupy myself by humming and occasionally mumbling the words to a song I used to secretly listen to. It's by a popular band called Bastille, the song Daniel In The Den. Once, when I was younger, Caleb and I went to school holding hands, I was shy and he was eager, so he lead me to class. I was in this cute newspaper grey and blue floral dress my hair was lighter and in a soft bun, we were told to introduce ourselves. Caleb kept it short and said he liked learning, I said I loved to sing. I had started when my mother was humming while cooking before father got home. Caleb told me later that day not to sing in front of others, I never understood why. Until, we were in 7th grade, I was in choir, and lead singer to my class. Many girls were jealous of me, and it eventually got me in a lot of trouble, as they destroyed my homework and pushed me around until I swore to give the position to the group leader, Anica.

Expressing a talent such as an artistic one can lead to a dangerous and consuming jealousy, it draws attention to yourself. My brother was trying to protect me. I haven't sang publically since, I rarely do it at home. Now, I don't have a real reason to, I used to sing the school play songs and make the periodic table song for Caleb to remember. I used to sing to make him and my mother happy when we would sit in her garden terrace. My father would sometimes leave the window to his office open and listen when he was working from home. I don't know if my family will still be as open as it was.

The school year is almost over, but no one has changed, we're all preparing for the final exams. After this year, I'll be a Senior. I'm sixteen, but my birthday is in January so I'm a bit awkward with my classmates about age. Then again, I've never talked to my classmates unless it was required. I walk up the steps, seeing some cars pull into the parking lot. I open the door and take a right to my locker down the tiled hallway. Our school is slightly peculiar, we're not divided by groups, like our middle school, but old habits die hard. So we took our own initiative to divide ourselves.

I stuck with grey, because it's what I know, Caleb had moved on to blue, which suited him because he was the smartest person I knew other than our dad. Blue, stood for the intelligent, people at a higher grade level, close to college level. Grey stood for those who chose to keep from themselves, to help others less fortunate but going to their level of understanding, full of responsibility. Red or sometimes yellow were known to be happy colors, for those who wish to spread love and kindness amongst others. White stood for honesty for those who saw the truth and simple like the natural white shade, seeing the simpler problems and being rational. Finally, black, or any dark color really, stood for the brave, those who were the natural rebels, for the all star popular athletes. For the kids that had no problem beating the crap out of each other over something stupid, and later laughing it off. They were carefree.

I open my locker and grab what books I need for the next morning classes. Then walking over to English, well, more so as Creative Writing. I majored in English my Sophomore year earning the right to take an extra elective. I still loved the subject to I took the next best thing. I close my locker and lock it, and make my way to the room that I've spent countless hours in. I'm stopped when I hear a few grunts and curse words echo through the hall, I round the corner as I hear a crack and see two boys in black clothing fighting. One is blonde with messy hair and the other with strawberry blonde hair, almost like a baked carrot. I don't know them, and I know I should stay out of it, but my stomach lurches as the blondes mouth spurts blood and his head is cocked to face me.

Before I know it I'm breaking my rule by shoving the other off the blonde, he stumbles back and wipes his nose, which is dripping blood. I cringe when he smiles and his teeth are a bit red too, "Well well stiff," The name 'stiff' is what they call us in grey, we call ourselves Abnegation, to signify the act of denying an unnecessary gift. To claim we forget ourselves and emotion in order to aid others. They call us stiff's because we try to keep to ourselves with as little interaction to others, meaning fewer words and expressions. He grins at me again and I realise I'm standing in front of the other boy, who gets to his feet with a stumble and a wince. "What's your name?" I dare to speak, its quiet, but still audible.

"Why should I tell you?"

"Because I need to report you, school violence such as this is prohibited," I say slightly more confident. He chuckles at me, "They're not going to do anything, you'd be a snitch, and we fight all the time," he says full of himself. How vain. "Besides, even if they do listen to you, I'd find you and beat you up easily worse than him," I bite my tongue but smile inwardly at how loud he's talking. Because conveniently the principles assistant is walking up behind him. Johanna. We call her Joan though, she is not the biggest fan of violence. I hear she was Amity before she graduated. She says loudly and powerfully, "Really Drew, I'd think you'd have a little more respect for others," He whips around and his mouth drops before going into a smirk. "Of course, I was just kidding," Lying to her isn't smart, and it's obvious he's getting nowhere. He's foolish and brave, bold and self centered to do that. She rolls her eyes and points to the camera in the corner saying "Well, if you feel so strongly about kidding on your insults, lets review the tape and listen to all the things you may have said to William," he scoffs and glares at me and the boy behind me. Joan speaks to him "Are you alright William?"

"Yeah, I'll live," he says sarcastically, I don't need to see him to know he's smiling. Johanna smiles in return and nods at me "Thank you, for helping him," I nod back at her as she turns and leads Drew to the office. I sigh in relief as the air thins again, and turn around to my class. A hand stops me by touching my forearm, I tense and look up at the blonde. I forgot he was there, "Thanks by the way," I nod and he removes his hand. I try to open the door again but his voice stops me, "I'm Wil, just so you know,"

"I heard," I say before thinking, I inwardly scold myself, a quick tongue gets you nowhere, a sarcastic one does not help. Will only smirks, "You're pretty Dauntless for a stiff," I keep looking at the door, Dauntless means being determined or fearless. I am neither of those things, I decided I wasn't when I became a Freshman. Made the school year a lot easier when I wasn't rebellious. "You're too Erudite to wear black," He cocks an eyebrow up as I turn to look at him,

"I used to be actually, you're brave and smart, what a collection," he says smirking at me, keep the conversation short Beatrice. "Thank you," I say finalizing things, "Maybe I'll see you around, Will," I hear a 'sure' from him as I walk into the empty classroom. I see the class instructor. He is reading the morning paper with his feet up on his desk. His skin is a dark olive and his eyes darker, his hair is black with a few strands of grey betraying his youthful looks. His eyes are almond shaped and his face boxy. He's 45, but he looks close to 30. My teacher looks up from the paper, then at his watch and smiles "You're late Prior," I nod curtly and walk to my seat towards the middle, "What happened?" he asks me.

"A fight, in the hall, I couldn't get to class because they were obstructing the path," I say simply while getting the laptop from the rack. "And technically, I'm not late, the first bell for 7:25 has not rung," I say not looking up at him.

"Well done," As he says this, the bell rings and people slowly filter into the room. When the final bell rings our Instructor stands and paces in front of the black chalk board, "Good morning class," A chorus of 'morning's' sound back at him and he smiles, "As you know, finals are just a few weeks away. I should recommend you all study accordingly. I'll aslo have you know that we are not going to have a test in this class, but on the day it is due, you will submit the novel I told you to start on at the beginning of the year," More kids than what I would initially expect groaned and sighed, I looked back at our Instructor who had his lips in a thin line. Disappointment is the look on his face. "Submit them via email on the day you are assigned to me during testing. Today we are working on analyzing a student text and fixing any errors, you are also allowed to recommend sentences and better their vocabulary," he says while he passes out a page of ink. "Don't write on this please, and return them to me along with your separate sheet of lined notations at the end of class, begin." I pull out a pencil and notebook and get to work immediately.

30 minutes into class I finish, I glance around and pay attention to the writing habits of students. One girl with light brown hair has her head on the desk as she writes. How peculiar I can't help thinking. I start drawing on the table, making note of the girl next to me watching. Before I know it the bell has rung, I stand and swing my bag over my shoulder, turning in my paper and staying after to clean up anything the other students may have left. My Instructor sighs and says "Prior, you don't have to do this, I clean the class at the end of the day,"

"But it would be rude to shut down assistance, plus there's no denying that this saves the last class you have the trouble of staying after and cleaning in order to return home," He doesn't say anything to me after that, when I'm done he nods a thanks to me. I leave for bio next. Technically it is the study of kinesiology, the study of the human body and its muscles as well as it's functions. In order to be fully selfless, you would have to learn some minor medicinal properties. Say to mend a broken hand or ankle, you wouldn't have to waste what money you have on a simple doctors visit. My class goes by relatively quickly as all she gave us was a sheet to remember the muscles in the body, all 650 of them. My other class is history, although most of it is recent, and from time to time the conversation drifts to politics and the geography and how that would affect the yearly salary for those in smaller independent businesses. I try to remember what I can for my fathers sake.

Finally, lunch rolls around. I walk over to the small table on the outskirts of the 'Dauntless' and 'Erudite'. I normally sit alone, but there is the occasional kid who forgot their lunch money at home so I give them a portion of my own food. Today, I sit at my table with my head down, focused only on eating quickly and studying for the upcoming tests. I realise now that I haven't said much to anyone today. If I have I've kept my answers short. Suddenly I feel a warmth next to my right, for a second I think it's Caleb coming to check on me, until out of the corner of my eye I see black. "Hello," I nod not looking up, it's Wil, what is he doing here? He leans in over my shoulder, "Whatcha doin'?" I realize that he could possibly see down my shirt. I automatically sit up straighter and look at him, turning my head only slightly. He's grinning, I can see the dark split in his lip and a bruise on his jaw, close to his right cheek bone. I haven't answered his question yet, "Studying, for the tests," He chuckles, was it something I said? "No, I mean what are you doing alone?" Alarms ring in my ears, and I feel myself tense. He laughs "Oh don't worry stiff, I've got a girlfriend," I see his light green eyes light up in amusement.

"Then what are you doing here?" My voice is much quieter than his,

"Don't tell them I said this, but one of the guys over there has a crush on you," He points to the table behind him, they're all watching this.

"Is this some kind of joke?"

"Actually yes," he says with no shame, "I'm over here because we've noticed you here all year, every day, sitting in the same spot alone,"

"I have my reasons," I mumble, carrying out extended conversations has always been awkward for me, it draws too much attention and focus on a single object. "Well, whatever they are, I'm sure they could make an exception for one day at least," My eyes find his again and I see he's being genuine. I glance back at the table I'm guessing he came from then nod once and slow. He grins and stands, grabbing my things and lunch for me. I remember the page number and close my textbook. I walk a few steps behind him and watch as two people part for me to sit, Will sets everything up continually glancing at a mocha skinned beauty across from him.

He finishes and I sit down slowly and awkwardly, I feel slightly out of place here, Caleb used to call these people roughians. But William has been nothing but nice to me. Maybe he was wrong, "Welcome to Dauntless stiff," He says and sits next to the girl he kept looking at. I can't help but fidget nervously with the pages to my textbook, I know that everyone here is waiting in silence for me to speak up, but I can't find it in me to do so, so I nod. He chuckles at me, "Come on, you gave Drew a mouthful this morning, use your words," he encourages, this makes my face warm up, "H-Hi," I manage to get out, then one of the boys laughs and yells "She speaks!" I smile a little to myself, he's tan and has dark hair and hazel eyes that look almost green at the moment. He sits on the other side of the mocha girl, who says "Hey I'm Christina," and holds out her hand for me, I look at it then her and nod. Physical interaction is at a minimum unless in the household. She looks slightly shut down but smiles brightly and giggles a little. I glance at William who moves his hand for me to say something, "Pleasure to meet you," I let out. Wil smiles, I'll admit, this is a different change in air to my time alone at the table behind me. Maybe, this might work, I know Caleb would support me, so why not?


	3. Parents

Parent

Before I know it the day is over and I find myself standing in front of the school, on the third step down out of eight, leaning against the railing and looking around at people who are laughing and talking about after school activities. I still here as the parking lot empties and I decide to check the library, he should be there right? I listen to how quiet my footsteps are against the tile, and how it echoes through the empty halls, with the zipper of my backpack slapping against the finer parts of the grey cloth. I take a left and walk out a set of glass doors to the inner sanctum of our school campus, a separate building entirely consisting of two full floors of books.

I walk slowly up to the double doors and pull one open, seeing the familiar face of our librarian typing furiously into the keyboard of her laptop. I wave to her awkwardly and she nods, I take it to myself to look for the familiar face. Downstairs is somewhat empty, a few Erudite studding for the rest of the year and taking notes in their books. Downstairs is the History and Geography section, as well as a bit of non-fiction.

Upstairs is where I usually find him, around four or so. Upstairs is Fiction, the Sciences and a few texts on Calculus and Trigonometry, as well as any test study guides. I weave silently through the curved isles of book shelves reaching the ceiling. It's like a childish habit of mine to skim my fingers on the rough, uneven, and smoothed surfaces of old tomes that haven't been touched in a while. The scratchy feeling of dust picking up on my fingers as I slide them across the untouched spines of words that can enchant the minds of others and break their hearts, as heroes or victims perish or get the ones they love. I can't help but shudder as my fingertips meet the cold of the metal shelf, and my nails make a tapping sound close to the click of a gun.

My eyes find the edge of the dark table he usually situates himself at. It makes me smile more than I have recently when I see someones books in his spot tucked in the corner. Their familiar black backpack on the back of the chair. I set my bag on a seat next to his stuff and wait, sitting on the table. Kicking my feet to and fro for a while until I hear footsteps behind me and I turn saying "It's time to go home Caleb-" But my voice abandons me as I see the face of my mother. I feel my eyes water as a pained saddened look invades my mothers face, I turn my head to the spot next to me and see the books gone, and the chair pushed in. Like there was never someone here in the first place. I am powerless to stop the tears from falling, and even more so as my mother comes and picks up my bag. I can't help as my body shakes and lurches with every stifled sob, my hand covering my mouth and my mother giving me a knowing look. She wants to cry too, she just won't allow herself to do so.

"Beatrice, let's go home," I close my wet eyes and calm down slowly, not saying anything for the fear of stuttering on my words. I feel my mothers hand on my arm and I look at her, she's looking at me with such intensity that it seems as if she's searching for my soul. Her blue eyes filled with so much experience and forbidden knowledge. I nod again to make sure she saw, and she looks down at her hand, that holds the strap of my bag. I take it and get to my feet, looking down, I don't want to see her. Or more so as I don't want to see the pain struck sadness that's somehow permanently imprinted itself on my parents faces. Normally I wouldn't cry like that, burst into tears without being able to stop. Maybe it's because I haven't cried for the six days that he's been gone. But maybe that's my downfall, he always told me it's better to quickly cry willingly than to suffer and hold it in until your body does it for you. Maybe, he'd still be here if I listened to him the way I do now.

My mothers small frail hand finds its place in between my shoulders. We make silent footsteps down the maze like library, and I can't help but notice how the librarian shoots me a look of pity. It makes me dread when the school will find out, and it also makes me feel so crushed. If I had listened to my dad Caleb would have been in that chair upstairs. Yet still, I had to rebel. My mother and I walk home in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. Mine occupying Caleb, no doubt her's are as well. I often remember that night, the night that depended on our families life line. The night that I held the scissors that cut our family in half.

_"Beatrice!" I hear my fathers enraged voice ring through the air, "Get back here!" I don't care though, it's a friday and I'm allowed to have fun every once and a while. Sprinting down the sidewalk to where I know the party is. Running away from rules, and my controlling father. Finally my feet slap to a halt and I keel over, placing my hands on my knees and catching my breath. My black hood flopping onto my head, I unzip my sleeveless hoodie just a bit and stand up straight, gazing at the lively house of rebels. Walking up confidently and pushing open the door, I'm met by the smell of alcohol and sweat. I can only see people dancing, laughing, drinking, and over all enjoying themselves. Obviously I want to fit in and have fun too, so when a boy confronts me minutes later with a red solo cup with a golden tinged liquid, I take it._

_After a few more hours, my vision is in tunnel view and blurred on the edges, more so than usual. I have to squint to see, even for a few seconds. For some reason I can't manage to stay upon my booted feet, so when I fall recklessly on some random guy. He gets pissed and shoves me out of the house. Being as foolish and weird as I am I fall ass first on the sidewalk. Strangely I start to giggle as I unevenly get to my feet. My feet start walking in a random direction and I don't notice the black sedan that pulls up next to me until the person beeps. I curse for the first time in my life and glare at the driver, who rolls down the window, I see the car is still moving and I haven't stopped walking so I just go with it. "Beatrice," The person is Caleb, I can't help but feel a warm bubbly feeling in me that makes my skin crawl, and when it gets to my mouth I spew nothing but venom, "What so, now, now you're here to get me too huh?" I demand, he gives me a strange look,_

_"No, Bea, I'm here to take you home," Caleb is nothing but concerned,_

_"What? Isn't the old man pissed beyond his years?" I say sluggishly,_

_"He's just worried, and so is mom."_

_"So why are_ you _here then?" I ask a bit louder, walking faster, nearing the end of the block. Caleb keeps in pace with me, "Because, Bea, we want you home," He tries to be gentle, but you could tell he's getting impatient. "You're going through a phase and our parents just want to help you, you're drunk Bea," he explains,_

_"Well if our parents are so worried they could be here instead of you, why don't you just leave? Let me solve my own problems?!" I'm at the edge of the sidewalk to cross the street and his car is a few meters ahead, "It'd be a lot easier! I'll get home on my own, leave me alone Caleb!"_

_"No Bea I won't!" He tries to say, but my scream cuts him off,_

_"CALEB!" Then the car speeding faster than it should slams into the driver side of his car and flips it to the side. His car, now halfway down the block, on its passenger side. And all I hear is screaming._

That's all I allow myself to remember.

I was told, that he died on impact. That he didn't suffer more than a second, that the person speeding was drunk, or high on meth, or something, but he got arrested and sent to jail for 25 years. My parents, had done everything they could to tell Caleb to stay home, that I would come home on my own. Yet, for some reason, he acted out of character and went after me, his little sister. The cause of his death, I had so stupidly spent my time in a drunken daze slurring my words and yelling at the person, my older brother, that was trying to take care of me when I wasn't right in the head.

Because of me and my actions, my brother was killed in a car accident. A girl lost a boyfriend, a boy lost his best friend, parents lost a son, friends lost a leader, and the school lost an exceptional student. All because of me. I wouldn't be surprised if when my father breaks out of his saddened daze, that he will loathe the thieving daughter that he spawned. Be bitter and cruel because his only son was so selfishly taken from him. Of course, my parents are the type to trust each other so much that no matter what they don't question each other. They follow lead actually, so eventually my mother will catch onto my fathers newfound hate. And join in on the parade.

My mother places her soft hand on my shoulder for a moment, pulling me from my thoughts. "Beatrice, we're home," She says softly to me, she say sit as if a loud noise will make me crazy. As if I'm sick and I need help. I look to find her face and her soft features. Her skin isn't tight, nor is it sagy, it shows a sense of wisdom. I nod my head to her and she removes her hand. gesturing to the front dark door that may lead to the unfamiliar quiet. I step forward and hold the door open for her, she nods her thanks, folding her hands softly in front of her and looking around, eyes landing only a second on something near my father's study. I walk in after her and shut the door softly. I know that my father is indifferent towards me just by the air from him. I slink past him and up the stairs as my mother glances at the clock to start dinner.

While there is still daylight left I start doing any homework, this takes about an hour and a half, with my room now tinted a golden orange. With the sky dyed pink and magenta, fading up into purple and eventually blue. The fluffed clouds beaming golden light from our setting star and rotating Earth, yet another day has gone by, and the frenzy of lights will begin when the sky is no longer orange and bright. I get up and look out the window, seeing the city and the hill I used to call my second home. Panels of the glass and steel reflecting that light so it spreads throughout the city. Maybe tonight I could be the first to turn on the light, but I know that after previously staring at it for minutes, my mind will not let me brighten everything up. Not by my hand.

So I find a spot on my bed with my shoes off, and study what I can durring the time, until it is too hard to learn the inked words and I have to squint to read. Just as I close the book, my mother knocks twice respectively and opens the door, "Dinner is ready," I nod my thanks and get to my feet, placing the book on my made perfect bed. When I arrive downstairs, my father has already found his place at the table, I notice that Calebs seat is devoid, and my father is staring relentlessly at it. I find my place at the table as does my mother, we pray for a moment, then we eat in silence. My father eyeing me with little to no emotion across his eyes or face, it is out of habit and instinct that I do so back. However the entire time I realize I'm not hungry, and I wasn't from the beginning, but it would be rude not to eat the food my mother has prepared so I eat. It is not my place to talk before the elderly, so when my parents carry on a quiet conversation about work, it is my place to only listen.

After everyone has finished I stand and collect the plates, then begin washing them as mother sets a bath for herself. I ignore the presence behind me and focus on the task at hand, it is only when my father lets out a gruff "Beatrice," that I turn to face him. Do not speak unless spoken to, a rule of respect. He only now that his wife is out of presence glares at me as if I was not his daughter. "What can I do for you?" I ask monotone.

"Shut up to start," He growls, I shut my mouth and look at him. Other than angry he looks to be tried, exhausted actually, the black circles already claiming way around his eyes. "It's your fault, Caleb would have been at the table, talking about school if you weren't such a disgrace," He begins. I know it is my fault, I've known for some time now. "Stay out of my sight, I don't want to look at the reasoning behind my only boys death," He orders, I nod and turn around from him, continuing my focus on drying the dishes. When I'm done I lock up the house and turn off the lights, leaving me in darkness. Only after a few moments do my eyes begin to adjust, the moonlight gives off a little faded blue through the glass doors and windows.

Slowly walking upstairs, I see the faint warm glow of candlelight, coming from the bathroom. I also catch the soft voice of my mother, singing along to an older, less common song. It's called 'Always', I don't know by whom, she never told me. But if my mother likes her, she must be good. I close my door silently and clean my room for the next day, then I change into my night clothes. Undoing the ties in the drapes, crawling into the covers of my bed, and soon finding silent dreamless sleep.


End file.
